Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)
Normally I’d chuckle and come up with a witty comeback, but I’m not in a good mood tonight. I take the stairs two at a time, frowning at the large suitcase along with two duffel bags sitting outside her room. “How long are you staying for again?”
She appears in the doorway with another bag and her guitar case. “Hi to you, too.”
I smile at her, shouldering the two duffel bags and pulling up the handle on the suitcase. “Are you sure you’ve left anything at all in your closet?”
She rolls her eyes and saunters down the stairs before me. “I have a lot of bags, get over it already. Oh, and Mom made some meals. They’re on the counter in the kitchen.”
I hold back the sarcastic laugh I want to let out. “You might want to get those on account of me being loaded down with all these bags.”
She huffs but walks toward the kitchen as I get her luggage in the car and wait for her to lock up the house.
She climbs in the car and I motion for her to put her seatbelt on. Rolling her eyes she says, “I’m not two, Nate. I do know how to put my seatbelt on.”
“Then do it instead of staring at your phone.”
“What’s up your ass?”
“Don’t say ass,” I retort as I turn onto the street and begin the drive back to my place.
“Again I’ll remind you that I’m fifteen and not two.” She doesn’t stop her fingers flying over the screen of her cell as she answers and I find myself unnecessarily annoyed.
“I hope you’re not going to be on that thing all week.”
“I hope you’re not going to be in this mood all week,” she counters.
I sigh. “Sorry, Maybug. I need a beer and to fester on the couch. It’s been a long day.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything until near the turnoff of my road. “Can I go in the pool?”
“After you unpack, sure.” I press the fob on the steering wheel of the SUV and the garage door opens and closes behind us when we drive in. “I might join you. A swim sounds like fun.”
We get the car unpacked and Maya automatically takes the room by the pool: she always stays in there. While she unpacks I take the containers of food my mom made for us, rather unnecessarily since I’m a grown man and I can cook for myself, but it’s appreciated all the same. I put them in the refrigerator and open a beer, chugging back some as I walk through the main room. Just as I’m about to walk down the hallway, I hear the ping of my cell.
I walk over to it and I don’t know if I’m happy or pissed with the message on the screen.
AMELIA: I miss you.
I type back furiously.
NATE: Tell me where you live and I’ll come over.
The three dots signaling she’s typing pop up, taunting me as they suddenly stop and I get no reply. I take a pull on my beer, staring at the screen, but when no message pops up I message Tris for her address.
TRIS: Amelia’s address? Why?
Shit. I’d forgotten in my haste that we hadn’t told him about us yet—if there even is an us anymore.
I stare down at my screen, wracking my brain for an explanation, thinking I’m a genius as I message him back.
NATE: Maya is here for the week so I took it off work. I thought I could take the kids out for the day? Maybe take them to see Amelia.
TRIS: Sounds like a great idea, except I don’t know her address. She said she’d message me but I’ve not heard anything. I’m not happy about it but I’ve been letting her settle in.
That doesn’t make sense, they’re like her family. Why the radio silence?
NATE: I’ll find out what it is. How does Thursday sound for me to have the kids?
I want to give her the benefit of the doubt and a few more days before I go knocking.